The Cuckoo comes in April
by Svetlanacat
Summary: A drabble story... Napoleon Solo was on the point of knocking but he paused and smiled. How strange... part 24, 25, 26...
1. Chapter 1

Napoleon Solo was on the point of knocking but he paused and smiled. How strange...

No one knew what Illya Kuryakin did when he went home.

Music.

The Russian polymath, explosive expert, skilled and formidable fighter, his usually distant - sometimes prickly – partner played guitar. He played guitar and... Napoleon Solo listened. He played guitar and...

Suddenly the door burst open.

"What the hell are you doing here, Napoleon?"

The guitar in his hand, the young man with his – too – long blond hair, his black turtleneck and his black pants stood barefoot, staring at him warily.

Napoleon couldn't help smiling again.

* * *

"Napoleon?"

The man pointed an inquiring chin at the living room. Illya pursed his lips and stepped aside reluctantly. Napoleon Solo headed quietly towards the couch and sat down. His partner sighed.

"Didn't Mr. Waverly give us three days' leave?" He locked the door and turned to the dark haired man who was still looking at him with his irritating though charming smile. "Napoleon? Are we needed?"

Napoleon Solo straightened his tie. "No, we aren't."

Something like confusion showed in the Russian's face for a split second.

"I intended to go sailing and I thought that perhaps you'd enjoy it..."

* * *

"Sailing?" Confusion gave way to disbelief. "Napoleon...I don't really feel like sailing. I..."

Napoleon Solo raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "Yes, I know but weather forecast is fine. We'll have a sunny day, warm with some gentle breeze and a very calm sea..." He tilted his head expectantly. "You'll enjoy it, I swear..."

Disarming.

Illya Kuryakin sighed deep down and admitted defeat. In the past, no amount of persuasion would have made him change his mind - especially about sailing – but when it came to charm, his partner's ability couldn't be caught out.

"You could bring your guitar..."


	2. Chapter 2 part 4, 5

What did Illya think about this? Napoleon peeped at his partner who was apparently dozing on the front seat, next to him and marveled at the man's flexibility. Though... He smiled. Flexibility wasn't the right word. It was rather an amazing ability to make the adjustment to his new life, based on measured concessions and conspicuous aloofness.

They didn't talk about vain politics. Uncle agents fought evil, real evil.

But... What could a young officer of the Soviet Navy think about his American partner who wore elegant suits, expensive shirts, smart shoes, who appreciated sophisticated places and owned a boat?

* * *

Illya Kuryakin was thinking about the fortunes of life and the improbable circumstances which had taken him there. Against all odds, he had been allowed - sent out? - to study in France and in the U.K. Three years ago, he had been ordered to join UNCLE, first in the U.K., then, in the U.S..

At the moment, he was in his partner's car.

His American partner whose indulgence in expensive clothes didn't fool him.

Napoleon Solo who had literally thwarted his survival strategy of icy aloofness.

Napoleon Solo. His... friend.


	3. Chapter 3 part 6, 7

Fine weather, calm sea, reliable boat and pleasant company...

Napoleon Solo casted anchor and sighed with contentment.

"Thank you, Napoleon..."

It caught him off guard. He turned to his friend who repeated softly, "Thank you..."

Napoleon felt uncertain. It wasn't just a polite and appropriate thank-you. A disconcerting gratitude showed genuinely in Illya's face.

"My pleasure... And..." He bent forwards, putting his hand on his partner's arm in a familiar gesture, "Thanks to you for being there!"

He chuckled and pointed at the guitar. "What about some music, before lunch? It was a nice song you played this morning..."

* * *

His partner's hands were fascinating: large, powerful and yet graceful. His fingers were dancing deftly on the guitar. With the blond tendrils fluttering in the breeze, the gray sweater carelessly spread over the shoulders, the black tee shirt, he didn't bear any resemblance to the deadly agent he was.

The Russian peeped at him, smiled faintly and sang.

_April come she will, _

_When streams are ripe and swelled with rain... _

_May, she will stay,  
Resting in my arms again._

_June, she'll change her tune,  
In restless walks she'll prowl the night;  
July, she will fly_  
_And give no warning to her flight._

August, die she must,  
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;  
September I'll remember  
A love once new has now grown old.

The breeze had taken away the last notes. Napoleon tilted his head, considering Illya.

"Beautiful song... "

The Russian rested his arm on the guitar.

"You surely heard about Paul Simon..."

It wasn't a question. Napoleon Solo sat down next to his friend.


	4. Chapter 4 part 8, 9, 9bis

Illya had always enjoyed living alone. Wherever, it didn't matter, a garret in an old building, in Paris, Cambridge or London...

_Napoleon leaned back against the rail, blinking at the dazzling sunlight._

Spending time by yourself without being scolded, bothered, challenged or chased after was undoubtedly the height of luxury when you'd lived for years in crowded communes whose only rule was the law of the jungle.

_He stretched his arm over the rail behind Illya's shoulders, casually._

For years he had coped with, whatever the cost, keeping people – or being kept – at a distance.

Then he had met Napoleon.

* * *

_This is the slashy sequel..._

"A little sad ending, though..."

Illya suddenly realized his partner was talking. Sad ending?

Napoleon chuckled softly. "She comes in April, they're in love in May, then she leaves and finally dies."

The blond man turned to his partner, which caused him to unintentionally lean against said partner's arm. Very naturally, Napoleon's hand rested on the Russian's back.

Napoleon had tilted his head back, eyes closed, smiling at the sunlight.

"There's..." Illya took a quick breath. "There's an English rhyme... about the cuckoo.

_**The cuckoo comes in April,  
Sings a song in May:  
Then in June another tune,  
And then she flies away.**_

Simon drew his inspiration from this, probably."

Napoleon didn't move his hand away.

Illya didn't move either.

* * *

_This is the gen sequel_

"A little sad ending, though..."

Illya suddenly realized his partner was talking. Sad ending?

Napoleon chuckled softly. "She comes in April, they're in love in May, then she leaves and finally dies."

The blond man turned to his partner, meeting expectant eyes. "There's an English rhyme about the cuckoo." The expectant look mingled with a hint of amusement. Of course. The Russian shook his head. "Paul Simon drew his inspiration from this, probably."

Then he closed his eyes, smiling at the sun.

"Illya?" Napoleon rolled his eyes at the innocent - but not angelic – face. "The rhyme, please?"

Illya complied obligingly.

_**The cuckoo comes in April,  
Sings a song in May:  
Then in June another tune,  
And then she flies away.**_


	5. Chapter 5 part 10, 10bis

Slashy...

He didn't move but Napoleon could feel the ghost of a shiver.

Touching, grabbing or gripping a partner in order to rescue him, giving him a comforting – or a mocking - pat on the back, it was part of the business.

This... this was different.

_With Napoleon's arm wrapped around his shoulders, Illya's brain wasn't processing as it usually did. A tingling sensation was creeping through the nape of his neck as tentative fingers were brushing it._

_This... this was different._

"Napoleon?"

Fiery blue eyes met flaming hazel ones.

They could laugh and get up.

Illya pressed his lips against Napoleon's.

Gen...

A delicious scent tickled his senses. Illya Kuryakin indulged himself with savoring the smell, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds. Eventually he gave up.

Napoleon enjoyed himself with his friend's face, blue eyes wide open, amazement turning into wonder at the sight.

"You like roast chicken, don't you?" the dark haired man was deftly blending the ingredients of what looked like to be... Caesar salad?

"Is this what you call a picnic lunch, Napoleon?"

Napoleon Solo chuckled. "This is aunt Amy's idea about picnic lunch..." He pointed at this friend. " Especially for my "_charming but skinny Russian friend_"."


	6. Chapter 6 part 11, 11bis

The slash version...

They didn't exchanged a word, exhausted and absorbed in their own meditation for awhile. It was something unexpected, something unusual but something they felt both amazingly comfortable with.

It wasn't just feverishness and lust. It was a deep and warm affection, the pleasure – the need – to be together.

They had already shared beds, slept together, holding each other in a tight embrace...

The had been partners.

They had been friends.

They were still. They would be forever.

Partners, friends and lovers.

"June...", Napoleon hummed softly.

Illya went on, "Won't change my tune..." He paused. "Napoleon? What is this "Chantilly" cloud?"

* * *

The gen version...

The dark haired man sighed with amusement as he noticed that his friend was greedily peeping at the very last peach pie portion. How this man could engulf such an amount of food and remain so slim... Napoleon couldn't figure out. He bent forward and held out the plate to him.

"Aunt Amy knew you'd love it..."

Illya Kuryakin chose to ignore his partner's smirk, concentrating himself on the appetizing thing in front of him. He picked up the cake and prepared himself to savor it. Suddenly he frowned and pointed at the sky.

"Napoleon, what is this Chantilly cloud?"


	7. Chapter 7 part 12, 13

12

The gusts of wind and the waves confronted each others, agreeing, finally, to toss and shake the boat mercilessly, covering everything with a frothy spray. Napoleon was at the helm, steering towards the harbor. His partner proved himself to be a skillful seaman and the dark haired man knew for sure they would make it.

_He loves that_... Illya Kuryakin pulled on the rope and tried to wipe the salted water away. His friend tightened and relaxed his grip on the helm, deftly, obviously concentrated and... excited. Thrilled. The boat responded well and Napoleon was in his element. Happy. Free.

13

The rain was still drumming on the windows but a rustling caught Napoleon's attention. Illya stood next to him, wrapped in a bathrobe, toweling off his hair. He pursed his lips and hissed, "We'll have a sunny day, warm with some gentle breeze and a very calm sea."

Napoleon raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry, partner mine..."

The boat was safely docked and they had raced towards the inn. The innkeeper had thrown up her hands, pushing them in a bedroom – "I've only one left, boys, but it's a twin room!" - and promising a warm fish soup.


	8. Chapter 8 part 14, 14bis

14 slash

Pouting lips relaxed imperceptibly, cracking their familiar half smile. "Don't. It was a wonderful day and..." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder, "I enjoyed the boat ride... including the storm..."

Napoleon hesitated. "And...?"

They exchanged a smile of complicity. Illya drew his partner to himself.

"This... I enjoyed especially..."

They kissed passionately, forgetful of the world.

"Boys? Give me your wet things, I'll see at drying them! I've got some of my sons' clothes for you... The fish soup is ready!"

Illya chuckled, " Hurry up, otherwise she might come in ."

Napoleon beat a hasty retreat towards the bathroom.

14gen

The pouting lips relaxed imperceptibly, cracking their familiar half smile. "Don't." The Russian tilted his head, "It was a wonderful day and..." His face brightened. "I enjoyed the boat ride..." He chuckled, "Including the storm..." Then he pointed at the bathroom.

"Your turn..."  
A knock at the door made them freeze.

"Boys? Give me your wet things, I'll see at drying them! I've got some of my sons' clothes for you... and the fish soup is ready!"

Illya chuckled, "What woman wants... Hurry up, my friend, otherwise she might come in and..."

Napoleon beat a hasty retreat towards the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9 part 15

15

The innkeeper put clothes on the bed and gathered their soaked ones, ignoring Illya's perfunctory protest.

"You'll get them back tomorrow."

As she was peeping at their shoes, the Russian smiled. "Those were in the car, madam."

Madam... She waved a finger at the bathroom. "Tell your friend to hurry. Dinner's ready!"

At her surprise, the charming blond boy with those extraordinary blue eyes got hold of her hand, delicately and kissed it, causing her to blush instantaneously. He whispered with a devastating smile, "Thank you so much, madam...".

How she did manage to leave without swooning, she didn't know.


	10. Chapter 10 part 16, 17

16

The lady looked at them with a nod of approval.

"Hope you don't mind... Here's the bar. Our regulars usually have dinner here. We've..." She rolled her eye, "... a "seminar" in the restaurant..." She pursed her lips in scorn. "No fish soup for those..."

It was a strange feeling, Illya thought. They were living the ordinary life of ordinary people... He was savoring both the delicious soup and a very rare sight: his friend in worn jeans and sweater, his hair unusually free from Brylcreem...

Napoleon Solo chuckled, "A penny for your thoughts?"

The Russian's slightly amused face suddenly froze.

17

"What..."

Illya vanished under the table as if he were looking for something.

There was a loud hubbub. The seminar, probably.

People around them were peeping at those vocal visitors. Napoleon thought better of it.

Alexander Waverly believed in partnership.

You worked with another agent on a regular basis. You were a good match. You completed each other. Matter of trust.

Exceptionally matter of empathy.

The hubbub turned into a distant murmur

People around them picked back the thread of their conversations.  
Illya got up and sat down in the same move.

"This seminar is..."Blue eyes flashed, " ...really... angelic."


	11. Chapter 11 part 18, 19, 20

18

Napoleon's raising eyebrow froze. Angelic? His partner's strained face suddenly cracked a smile as the innkeeper lady was walking up to them with two bowls.

"Some more, boys?"

Napoleon shook his head. They had to...

"Oh yes, madam! It's delicious, really!"

This young blond man was really nice, she thought. The other one, too, though he looked like to be a bit confused, at the moment.

"Er, madam, this seminar... what is it about?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh... I'm just saying, you wouldn't believe it. Those noisy fellows..." She shook her head. "They're ..." She pursed her lips. "... bird watchers!"

19

They kept silent for awhile until the innkeeper moved away.

"Bird watchers?" Napoleon rubbed his chin. "Illya... Are you sure it was... Angelique?"

The Russian smirked.

"Though the creature...", he paused, savoring his friend's rolling eyes, "... isn't a close friend of mine...", he waved his fingers in a very evocative gesture, "I can still identify a black widow spider when I see one..."

"I was just asking..."

Illya shook his head with a disgusted look, "No, there's no mistake, Napoleon... which means... we've to report about it."

"Which means that our three days' leave... Illya? What..."

"Hush... First things first..."

20

The lady nodded in approval and picked up the empty bowls.

"For dessert, there's apple pie or..." She smiled at the charming blond. "They..." She looked back at the hallway, "... asked for something special. You'd like "soufflé Grand Marnier"?"

She frowned as the brunet chuckled.

"Soufflés will be great, madam!" Illya purred while kicking his partner on the leg, in order to wipe away the stupid smirk. Napoleon winced and nodded apologetically.

"You're very kind, madam. Soufflés are a treat..."

As she was leaving, Illya pointed at his friend, "Fun's over! You're CEA, Napoleon. You've to report to Mr Waverly..."


	12. Chapter 12 part 21, 22, 23

21

"Bird watchers?" Waverly's voice betrayed amazement. "She didn't see you, Mr Solo?"

"No, sir. I had my back to the door. Illya ducked under the table. She couldn't have a clue about us..." He smirked at his reflection in the window...

"You'll keep watch on our bird watchers till Mr Slate and Miss Dancer join you. "Your" Angelique doesn't know them." The Old Man kept silent for awhile.

"Our three days leave, sir, I guess..."

"... come to an end right now, of course."

"Of course..."

The deafening rain lashed against the windows as Napoleon came back to the bar.

Deserted.

22

The bar was deserted. Deserted, tidy and clean.

People didn't run away in panic, leaving glasses, chairs, tables upside down...

A few minutes ago, the room bathed in delicious scents.

At the moment, it didn't smell of anything.

A few minutes ago, it resounded of chatters, laughter...

At the moment, it was silent.

A few seconds ago, storm raged outside.

At the moment...

No more rain.

No more families.

No more innkeeper.

And no more... Illya.

Napoleon clenched his jaws, on the alert.

Thrush.

It had all begun when... When? A few minutes ago...

Someone chuckled somewhere... next to him.

23

"Napoleon?"

The voice was unexpectedly familiar and... slightly ironical. It was dark all around. Napoleon realized that his eyes were closed. He realized, too, that he leaned back against a comfortable shoulder, that the boat was gently rocking.

What hell...?

"Napoleon? Tovarish... Look..."

On the alert again, he half opened his eyes and blinked at the dazzling light. An orange, red, dark pink, amethyst show set the sky and the ocean ablaze...

A dream... A nightmare?

Napoleon turned to the other man whose blond hair sparkled with sunset, whose blue eyes looked at him with ... amusement.

"The storm, Illya... What...?"


	13. Chapter 13 part 24,35, 26

24

There were droplets left on the deck and dried salt traces on the usually sparkling panes. Yes... the storm... The boat was anchored at a familiar spot next to an island, kind of a safe harbor Napoleon knew for years... The storm had subsided. They had checked the boat, got changed, eaten a snack... and taken a nap.

"You shouldn't have finished the apple pie... " Illya's face was all innocence and compassion.

Napoleon frowned with an outraged look and pointed an accusing finger at his friend.

"Who did eat the two portions left?"

They burst into laughter.

Just a dream...

25

They were sailing quietly. The boat skimmed over the sea, through the flaming colors of sunset.

It had been a wonderful day, Illya thought, an the bit his lips.

"Thanks for inviting me, Napoleon..."

Napoleon smiled. "My pleasure..."

The Russian pointed at the harbor, in front of them.

"We could have dinner here... I noticed a small restaurant, this morning and..." His partner stiffened. "Napoleon?"

Stupid. It was stupid. Napoleon forced a bright smile. Of course they would have dinner. Of course they would enjoy themselves. Of course it would be the icing on the cake of a pleasant day.

26

They walked along the pier, lost in thought. Napoleon usually enjoyed to sail alone, free from work, free from the world...

Illya usually enjoyed those moments when he could read, listen and play music , be himself, free from work, free from the world...

Napoleon had picked up his Russian partner against the odds. Against the odds, Illya had agreed. They had enjoyed themselves, free from work, free from the world.

Two friends together.

The innkeeper smiled at the charming boys, a blond and a brunet who stood at the entrance.

"Smelled Louis' delicious fish soup, boys, didn't you? Come in!"


End file.
